


Deadpan

by CassandrasDisgustedNoise (Lumiwolf)



Series: Family [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, Deviant Connor, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Pacifist Ending, Pure Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 18:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15030881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumiwolf/pseuds/CassandrasDisgustedNoise
Summary: When Connor starts to joke, Hank almost doesn’t catch it.





	Deadpan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndelMartina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndelMartina/gifts).



> Fun fact: This was actually inspired when one of my readers, AndelMartina, commented on my first fic called [Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804675). They mentioned about Connor experiencing other emotions like playfulness and mischief, and thus this was born. Hopefully it’s okay :)
> 
> Edited by my closest friend Altece, she helped me get past a lot of writer's blocks and pointed out the mistakes and inconsistencies. :>

The sight that greets them as they cautiously head into the apartment is a grisly one.

A legless WB200 model sprawls lifelessly on a large wooden table in the middle of the room, an open-mouthed look of anguish permanently set on its features, its shirt savagely torn and drenched in blue blood. Littering the floor are piles of wires and android parts carelessly stack on top of each other.

“Looks like our man’s not here,” Hank sighs, sliding his gun back into his jacket and surveying the place with his hands on his hips. Connor strides towards the deactivated android, his expression turning thoughtful as he analyses the body.

“This android was put under heavy distress on before it...died,” Connor automatically relays to Hank, his hand hovering over the cracked thirium valve near android’s pump, “Since androids can’t feel pain, he instead repeatedly attached and reattached its thirium pump to cause severe emotional distress. Eventually, the part malfunctioned.”

Hank grimaces and makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat, “What a sick fuck.”

But then again, they shouldn’t expect a conscience from someone who is responsible for sixteen counts of android destruction and five counts of murdering pro-android activists.

Connor hesitates briefly, then he reaches up and gently closes the android’s eyes.

“Christ, what a shithole. It’s like the fucker never learnt what basic hygiene is,” Hank grumbles, stepping over a bunch of wires strewn on the floor to make his way towards a duffle bag lying in the corner of the room, “Well, give me a shout if you find anythin’.”

“Got it,” Connor replies absent-mindedly as he drifts into the kitchen.

Hank rummages through the contents of the duffle bag, “There ain’t much in here, just a couple of clothes and a pack of cigs.” Taking one last look inside the bag, he stands up and glances briefly at his partner.

Just in time to see Connor dipping his fingers into the filthy kitchen sink filled to the brim with murky rust coloured water and putting it into his mouth.

“Oh what the-,” Hank’s horrified grimace is almost comical, disgust and resignation visibly warring on his expression, “Really, Connor? _Drain water?_ I swear I’m really gonna throw up one of these days.”

Connor blinks at the man and tilts his head, brows furrowing in confusion, “I thought you knew that I needed to sample the substances in order to provide an accurate analysis, Lieutenant.”

Hank pauses, makes an aborted gesture with his hands, “Well... _yeah_ , but god knows how long that water’s been sittin’ there!”

Connor stares down at the liquid on his fingers and pauses for a moment as if deciding on something, then he continues, a strange expression on his face, “Contrary to what you’re thinking, Lieutenant, but the taste is not as bad as it seems. To further assist with analysis, I have been equipped with a slightly altered perception of flavour. Its composition is roughly ninety-two percent water, six percent rust-”

Six percent rust? _What the fuck even_ -

“So you’re saying you _like_ the taste? Jesus Christ, Connor,” Hank interrupts, his face slightly green, “Don’t-!” Hank holds up a hand and cuts him off as Connor starts to reply, no doubt to add even more nauseating details, “God, are you actually tryin’ to make me puke? I don’t want to know that crap.” He shakes his head in disgust, glares at Connor as his partner merrily continues to analyse the substance. Is that… _mold_ on the tap? _God, he hopes not._

Hank continues to scowl as Connor reaches for a small but worn leather book on the kitchen counter. Sighing, he starts to turn back to his investigation when he spies something out of the corner of his eye.

Is Connor _smiling_? This cheeky little…

“Wait a goddamn minute, did you just-” Hank narrows his eyes suspiciously at Connor, “Did you just fuckin’ _tease_ me?”

Connor looks up from the book he is reading and immediately schools his face into a perfect picture of innocent confusion, eyes wide and brows raised, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Lieutenant,” he replies dryly and meets Hank’s suspicious stare evenly, then turns back to reading.

The Lieutenant glares incredulously at him, the kid sure has one of the worst bullshitting expressions he had ever seen, “Yeah, _right_ ,” he grunts, and turns back to inspecting the large wooden table. He’ll drop it. _For now._

Behind the book, Connor’s lips twitch, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he scans through the book.

“Find anythin’ good in there?”

Connor does not reply, his attention focused on analysing the contents of the book. “It’s his journal,” his breath catches in his throat before he continues haltingly, “He mentions in great detail about his torture procedures and his... _pleasure_ in doing so.” Connor looks up, his eyes troubled and shocked, body completely stock-still. Without even himself knowing, Hank is already moving across the room.

“Gimme that,” Connor startles as Hank storms right up to him and snatches the journal out of his hands, “Don’t read this bastard’s diary.”

 _What the absolute fuck_ is Hank’s only thought as he scans through the book. It describes the experiments in gruesomely excessive detail, and the sick- to a point almost bordering on _sexual_ \- pleasure in seeing each android’s emotional distress. Concern for the Connor flits around in Hank’s chest, _a kid like him shouldn’t read such stuff._ He looks up from the book to see how Connor’s doing, only to do a double take at his expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that for?” Hank feels uncomfortable under Connor’s adoring gaze. The feeling multiplies when the kid’s smile widens, almost to the point of _beaming_. “Would you stop that? It’s gettin’ kinda creepy, might wanna get that checked. I just wanted to read the god damned journal, okay?” Hank grumbles, pointedly ignoring him.

“Whatever you say, Hank,” Connor replies dryly, but with soft eyes and lips still upturned into a knowing smile. _Smart-mouthed asshat_.

Hank clears his throat. “ _Anyway_ ,” he drawls, “His stuff’s all still here, that probably means he might-”

Suddenly, Connor snaps his head towards the door, body language tense and alert. Hank feels his light-hearted mood dissipate instantly, warning bells going off in his head. He expertly draws his gun from the inside of his coat and flicks off the safety in a practised motion.

Then, Hank hears it. The unmistakable creak of the floorboards.

“Get behind me,” Hank bites out, voice hard. He silently moves to take position beside the main door and Connor automatically manoeuvres to stand behind him without a word. For a moment, all is silent except for Hank’s steady breathing.

The door slams open.

“HANDS IN THE AIR! DETROI-” Hank doesn’t get to finish the sentence as the a towering man of pure muscle flings him easily to the side like he is nothing more than a doll. He loses his grip on his gun as he trips and stumbles over a pile of android parts. Blinding pain shoots up his leg. Did he just break his god damned ankle? _Fuck_. Groaning, Hank quickly rolls onto all fours, eyes searching for his gun, but with all the junk and debris in the room, it’s not an easy task.

The huge man easily shrugs off Connor’s jabs and kicks with a grunt, laughs and catches the kitchen chair easily when the android swings it at him. He easily rips it out of Connor’s grip and shoves him against the kitchen counter, hands coming to grip the android by his suit. With a grunt, Connor grasps at the man’s forearms as he rips open the white button-up shirt, feels dirty blunt nails clawing into his thirium pump regulator.

Connor’s eyes widen as he realises what the man intends to do. He violently thrashes in the iron grip. Tries to go for the face, his throat, his ears, _anything_. He snarls and knees the man in the crotch, but the hand continues to scrabble at his chest. With a vicious twist and jerk, the man rips out the part and throws it aside. Connor gasps and whimpers as he sags in his grip.

Hank’s feels his blood freeze in his veins. He stumbles to stand up even as the bones in his ankle grinds against each other and agony streaks through his leg. _Move_ , you fucking useless leg! _MOVE!_ Connor needs help _NOW!_

The hulking man easily lifts Connor up to eye level, a savage grin spreads across the man’s face, eerily casting his eyes in an unnatural light. “Got your strings cut off? I’m going to _enjoy_ ripping you apart piece by piece, pretty boy,” he growls. Connor’s breathing is uneven and panicked as he struggles, but the loss of his regulator causes him to do little else other than weakly grab at the hands holding him up.

Hank frantically scans the piles of junk for anything- anything at all. A wrench partially hidden by a damaged android torso catches his eye. Stifling a pained groan, he reaches for it and starts limping towards the fucker, grits his teeth and forces himself note to scream even as he feels like he’s walking on molten glass with every step he takes.

“I can start with this, it’s so _fragile_ ,” the man grins, his palm hovering over Connor’s fearful eyes, fingers closing around his left optical unit as a threat. Connor’s breath hitches, expression morphing into panicked defiance as he scrabbles more frantically at the hands. “Yes, _yes,_ ” the man whispers, grin widening as he sees the android struggle futilely.

What he does not see is Hank struggling behind him, holding the tool in a white-knuckled grip. Using all of his remaining strength, Hank brings down the wrench onto the fucker’s neck with a growl, taking pleasure as the man goes down like a sack of bricks.

So does Connor.

“CONNOR!” Hank limps over in a blind panic, rage forgotten. His ankle screams at him, the broken bones scrape against one another, but all he sees is Connor collapsed on the ground. He needs to go to the kid, needs to help him, needs to see with his own eyes-

_He cannot lose another one._

Hank closes the distance in mere seconds and shoves the body off Connor. He gives no thought as he tries to crouch, but his bad leg gives out beneath him. For a moment, the pain blinds him, blackness bleeds into the edges of his vision as white noise obscures his sight. Growling, Hank shakes his head and forces himself to get a god damned grip because there’s _no fucking time_.

“You’re gonna be fine, son. You’re gonna be just fine.” Hank mutters feverishly, hands grasping at the kid’s shoulders. His eyes quickly zone in onto the hole in Connor’s chest and splashes of vivid blue contrasting starkly against his suit. Hank feels his heart stutter, his hands hover around the gaping void, tries to press and cover it in a vain effort. Does it even work that way for androids? He doesn’t know what to do. Oh god, what does he do?  

“Hank!” Connor chokes out, voice hoarse and breathing stuttered, “Please… calm down. I need you...to help me get my regulator.” He tilts his head upwards slightly to catch Hank’s eyes, and tries holds his panicked gaze. “Hank... _please_ ,” Connor grabs one of his hands, feels it shaking and tries to still it.

For a moment, the Lieutenant looks at Connor with haunted eyes, then comprehension flashes in them and he snaps into action. “Where is it, son? _Where is it?_ ” Hank presses. Once Connor raises a hand to weakly point in the general direction, Hank frantically ploughs through the heaps of garbage, hands clawing through the piles in a frenzy. A glowing blue catches his eye amongst the sea of dark, non-functioning parts. The relief that grips him is so palpable, he almost collapses there and then.

 _Not yet._ He swipes the component off the ground with an agonised hiss, hastily limps back, and shoves the regulator into the kid’s hands. Connor sluggishly takes the component, grunting as he shoves it into his chest cavity with a twist. As soon as it is inside, Connor lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders drooping.

“Hey, hey!” Hank gently grasps his face with both hands and lightly smacks his cheeks, “You okay? _Are you okay?_ ”

Connor looks at him with scared eyes and blinks a few times, his fingers clench briefly at where his regulator is at before forcibly relaxing, “Yeah,” he starts, then clears his throat when it comes out cracked and hoarse, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hank audibly sighs in relief, tension bleeding out of his frame from where he is kneeling. He rubs his forehead and takes in a shaky breath. Suddenly exhausted, Hank slumps backward and sits on the ground, filthy floor be damned.

“You’re injured!” Connor exclaims, eyes wide in alarm. He scrambles to kneel beside Hank, lips pressed together determinedly as he scans the injury. “Broken fibula, possibly a lateral malleolus fracture,” Connor murmurs, hands hovering over the injury hesitatingly, eyes flicking to Hank in concern.

“Yeah yeah, broken ankle, got it Sherlock,” Hank drawls and pats his shoulder, stifling a wince as the injury twinges, “Relax kid, I’m fine.” When Connor huffs and eyes him in exasperation, Hank rolls his eyes, “You ain’t one to judge, Connor. I’m not the one who got his fuckin’ heart ripped out, Jesus.”

At that, Connor smiles bashfully and looks away guiltily. He looks to where the suspect lay collapsed beside him, eyes quickly scanning through his vitals, “He’s unconscious and alive. Might have a really bad neck pain, though.”

“Well that’s a fuckin’ pity,” Hank bites out, eyes narrowed on the unconscious man, “Make a call to DPD and let ‘em know we got the motherfucker.”

“Already done, Hank. The ambulance is also on its way, ETA is twelve minutes.”

“Well fuck, that ambulance fee ain’t gonna look good on my monthly statement.” Hank grumbles, then hisses as blinding pain shoots up his leg. He pulls up his pant leg and eyes the swollen ankle. Well that’s just dandy, probably a whole year of medical fees to add on to the pile of expenses.

Hank’s eyes drifts to the burst of blue on Connor's white shirt, a frown slowly forming on his face. It still makes his stomach knot in worry. God, the kid almost _died_ right in front of him and he didn’t even know what the fuck to do.

He is shaken out of his thoughts as Connor stands up with ease, hands going to straighten his tie. Hank sighs in exasperation as he sees Connor smoothly cuffing the suspect on the ground. It’s barely even five minutes and he’s already zooming around.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me, Connor,” he groans.

Connor does that infuriating head tilt again. “I should certainly hope not, as I have already integrated a regular prompt in my daily routine to remind you of your terrible drinking habits. It would be a pity if my efforts go to waste,” he quips.

_Okay, that’s it._

“Alright, cut the bullshit,” Hank interrupts, giving Connor a pointed stare, “You’re shitting with me, right?”

A beat. Connor slowly looks up, peers at Hank with a wide-eyed look of innocence. “I don’t think that would be a wise course of action, Hank. It would violate approximately three laws and is extremely unhygienic.” The kid’s mouth is deliberately set in a straight line, but Hank doesn’t miss the crinkling at the corner of his eyes.

Hank stands by his previous point that Connor has the shittiest poker face he’s ever seen. He sighs and rubs his eyes, tries to suppress the gradually growing feeling of warmth. _The kid just fuckin’ played him._ “...There’s not even rust in that fuckin’ sink, is there?”

Connor gives up all pretence and breaks into a tiny grin. “I’m not sure, Hank. Maybe I should sample it another time to ensure an accurate analysi-”

“No!” Hank clears his throat awkwardly and narrows his eyes.

Then it hits him.

Connor just _joked_ with him.

The realisation leaves him breathless in awe as he stares at the kid, at a loss for words.

“Did you just.. Did you just joke with me, Connor?” Hank can scarcely believe it.

“I don’t know Lieutenant, you tell me,” Connor’s grin widens, eyes crinkling with mirth and sparkling with playfulness. For a moment, the need to hug the kid almost overwhelms Hank because the feeling of pride and wonder grows and _grows_ and leaves him almost _breathless_.

_Look how far he’s come._

Hank takes in a shaky breath and clears his throat, blinking his eyes rapidly and tries his damndest to ignore the soft look that overtakes Connor’s face. “I’m gonna need a long ass break after this,” Hank complains, but his eyes are still bright and a hint of a smile still twitches at his lips. Connor simply smiles fondly down at him.

More than a year back, if anyone had told Hank that he would become best friends with an android, eventually see him like his own son, and get mercilessly teased by it while solving cases, Hank would have punched the living shit out of them. _Machines don’t feel_ , he would have thought then.

But as Hank gazes at Connor, notices the way he fidgets with his coin impatiently and how he shifts from foot to foot in boredom, Hank breathes a little easier, the ache in his chest from the sudden loss of Cole dulling to a twinge, the constant thoughts of _just one more game of roulette_ now muted and subdued.

“Hank!” The call snaps the man out of his thoughts. He looks up, raising an eyebrow at the kid.

“Yeah?”

Connor, for the lack of a better word, _scampers_ towards the Lieutenant, his body vibrating with excitement. “Look at this,” he says, as he fiddles elaborately with his coin in one hand, only for it to reappear in the other. Then he looks up at Hank, face eager and expectant.

“Is that a new trick?” Hank doesn’t recall seeing that one.

“Yes, I started learning it approximately two minutes ago,” Connor smiles as Hank stares at him. Two minutes? _Seriously?_

“I fuckin’ hate you sometimes, Connor,” Hank grouses, adamantly ignores the warmth blooming in his chest.

Connor beams, “Of course you do, Hank.”

He remembers when Connor broke into his house a few months ago and shoved him into the cold shower to sober up. He also vividly recalls the kid telling him that the next one would have killed him.

Hank realises with a start, that he is glad that he never fired that shot.

 

**.End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Have you guys checked out Bryan Dechart (Connor's actor) playing Detroit? He and his fiance are absolutely adorable!


End file.
